Martyr
by Tycho
Summary: Sequel to 'Hands of Red' in which Harry kills Voldemort, and everyone else has to deal with the consequences. UPDATED: Chapter 3
1. Chapter 1

Martyr  
by Tycho  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Sequel to 'Hands of Red' (which _must_ be read first to follow the plot) in which Harry kills Voldemort, and everyone else has to deal with the consequences. Chapter one has been expanded to clear up confusion, and Chapter Two added.  
Pairing: HG/SS

Disclaimer: (noun, charm) - a spell to ward off lawsuit happy lawyers.

**Post GoF**

Harry sat in the back of the Dursley's car, watching London slip by him without seeing it. For once his Uncle Vernon had decided not to make a day of it and bring the rest of the family. In fact it was entirely possible that Dudley was still attending his final day at school, and Aunt Petunia would be at No 4 Privet Drive baking his favourite dinner. Dudley's favourite that was, not Harry's. This lack of familial presence in the vehicle could explain why Harry's ears weren't ringing and his arm was bruise free.

This suited Harry just fine, and not just because of the lack of abuse. He'd had too little time to himself since the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Too many friends, both true and shallow, hanging around; making sure he didn't brood too much over Cedric Diggory's needless death. The only time he'd had to himself was at night when everyone else was asleep, but it was always difficult to make complicated plans with Ron, Neville and Seamus snoring practically in his ear. At least four years of living together had achieved one thing. They now snored in a perfect three part harmony. 

Harry, of course, didn't snore, so the trio was never a quartet. 

The train trip back to London had been particularly bad. First he'd been trapped into the compartment with Ron and Hermione. Any attempt to leave would have ended up with them following, either close by or from a distance. That would be something that he'd need to change come the new term. Then there'd been the visitors. Gryffindors congratulating, Hufflepuffs forgiving, and Ravenclaws threatening. For some reason, the Ravenclaws thought he'd take advantage of Cho in her grief. As for Slytherin? Well, only three Slytherins had paid him a visit, and oddly enough, that had been the best part of his day. 

It actually gave him the glimmerings of an idea for Plan B. 

"You're awfully quiet back there, boy. Cat got your tongue?" Vernon was attempting to sneer, but it came off looking more like a walrus with hay fever. 

"Not at all, Uncle. Usually it's your wife and son making all the noise." Vernon started harrumphing, and spluttering, once again resembling a walrus. "Peace, Uncle. I meant no disrespect. I'm just distracted, is all." 

Vernon harrumphed again, and looked oddly at Harry in the mirror. This was most strange. His spineless nephew both back talking to him and apologising almost in the same breath? Vernon could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Harry had actually given him cheek, and never had he apologised for it. At least not willingly. There was Something Very Peculiar Indeed going on. 

"Uncle Vernon?" 

"What is it, boy?" Vernon asked distractedly, maneuvering around a large truck. 

"How would you like to make some money?" 

Vernon looked into the rearview mirror to see his poor destitute nephew holding up several large gold coins, and promptly missed the exit for Surrey. 

****

**September...**

To say that Ron was worried, would be like saying that the World Cup Final was just a game. Technically true, but utterly inadequate. To begin with, and the least of his problems, Malfoy and his cronies were strutting up and down the Hogwarts Express with that smug 'I know something you'll never know' look. Or at least Malfoy was. Crabbe and Goyle were trying to, and failing miserably. Ron's imagination was stretched too thin at this point to figure out exactly what they had made their faces look like.

Secondly, Harry had locked himself into one of the compartments, and no-one could get in. Not without demolishing the carriage, anyway. If Harry had just locked himself in there with some girl, Ron wouldn't have minded so much, (unless said girl was Ron's baby sister who was attracting far too much attention from the male population this year,) but Seamus, who had seen him go in, said he was alone. On top of that, Harry had stayed at the Dursley's all summer and what little correspondence there was had been...cold. Like talking to an estranged distant cousin who you've never actually met.

And to top it all off, Hermione was missing. No one had even seen her get on the platform, let alone the train. Ron's brain was in overdrive imagining horrible things that might have happened to her. Everything from Death Eater abductions to fatal illnesses eventually found it's niche in Ron's nightmare. Even the recurring 'she ran away to America because she figured out that I figured out I might have a crush on her' scenario that came up every time he thought about asking her out had found a new second home in his head.

To say that Ron was having a bad start to the new school year wouldn't entirely be accurate. Actually this was kind of normal.

****

**First Hogsmeade Weekend - early October...**

Harry wandered through the small village of Hogsmeade, taking almost no notice of the other students around him. Ravenclaws clamouring quietly in the bookstore, boys of all ages making use of supplies bought at Zonko's, girls giggling over the latest fashions at Gladrags'. Some of them looked at him strangely, as if wondering where his shadows were, until friends reminded them of the apparent rift that had separated the trio. In fact, Ron and Hermione were, at this moment, drinking butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Harry had been there too, until he'd raised an argument about it being Ron's turn to buy. . .

And now he was alone again. Painful, perhaps, but necessary to The Plan. That pain had almost been unbearable at the start of term when Hermione had missed the first few days. His nightmares had plagued him constantly with imagined scenes of her capture/torture/death at the hands of Voldemort and his followers. But then she'd arrived, safe and sound, a small scar over her left eyebrow the only remnant of the car crash that had nearly stolen her fathers life.

For a short time, things had been as if the tragic events of their fourth year had never occurred. But The Plan had to go forward, and therein lay his current dilemma. Snape. The Spy Who Was Confined. If Snape couldn't leave Hogwart's, then Plan A would have to be abandoned, and Plan B put into effect. Harry didn't particularly like Plan B. Its conclusion was too far into the future, and at least one death would result in it.

And The Boy Who Lived couldn't stand the idea of another death on his conscience.

Then Harry spotted a figure lurking at the end of the street, hidden among the shadows between a tea house and thatch roofed cottage. There was little doubt in Harry's mind that he was the only person in Hogsmeade who could see the lurker, as a step to either side would remove him from view entirely. He was just as sure that the fellow was watching him.

Harry calmly strolled down the street and around the corner, being careful to keep his face perfectly calm despite the elation within. With a few modifications, Plan A would be feasible after all. . .

---------

Avery stood in the shadowed alley, watching the Potter boy wander through Hogsmeade as if he owned the place. He sneered, '_If it wasn't for that sniveling brat_,_ the Dark Lord would have the Wizarding world in his fist, and we would have lordship and dominion over the. . .Hang on, where's he gone?' _Avery felt a small sharp pain at the back of his neck, as if someone had just pricked him with a needle, and heard a soft murmured word.

Suddenly he was floating in shadow somewhere ever so pleasant. And there was a boy there with glasses who wanted to know his name. Avery, of course was more than happy to tell him. And now the boy was laughing, such a pleasant sound, something about Avery resembling jelly in a graveyard. Now the boy was giving him instructions, and although they made him very afraid, Avery would do what the boy was asking. 

**Halloween...**

Professor Severus Snape watched the Great Hall over the rim of his morning coffee cup warily. He quite readily expected an explosion at any moment, be it literal, metaphorical or metaphysical. Not once, since Potter had begun his education at Hogwart's, had Halloween passed without a disaster of one sort or another. A troll, a basilisk, an escaped prisoner assaulting an innocent portrait. And worst of all was last year, when Potter was chosen as the fourth champion. Severus had no doubts that this year had something equally horrible in store for them.

A mild pandemonium broke out amongst the students, as it did every morning. The mail had arrived. Severus was pleased to note that the Weasley Twins had received yet another howler, bringing the total to three for the year so far. Unlike most students, however, Fred and George did not fear the small red envelope, but rather treated as a special treat. A sign, if you will, of frequent success. Their younger brother was, however, mortified, something that almost brought a smile to Severus' face.

The Phantom Smile was banished by the two small envelopes that landed on his plate. He used his butter knife to slit the seal on the first. It was from Albus, and its contents were mundane to say the least - a request to discuss his possible involvement in a Yule Ball. Mundane to the ordinary person, perhaps, but while Dumbledore frequently sent messages of this type to the rest of the faculty, (his brilliant ideas often being fleeting until he was reminded of them) the only time Severus received such mail was when the Headmaster wished to discuss Severus' role as a spy.

Severus had received no such letters since his exile to Hogwart's nearly two months prior. It would seem Albus had finally found another use for him. Severus was torn between being elated at a return to his path of redemption, and terrified at the thought of being caught outside the castle. Voldemort had been very clear as to the consequences.

The second letter was also brief, and without a sender's identity on the reverse of the envelope, and the wax seal was plain. He used his knife once again and withdrew the single page within. It too was unsigned, but having graded the author's essays for over four years, he knew her identity. Hermione Granger. His unwitting saviour and friend. It still felt odd to consider anyone a friend, let alone a student, yet he found himself growing fond of the girl. Not _that_ fond, of course, but certainly closer than anyone else he'd known since his own days as a student.

During which time _his_ closest friend had been a Professor. A friendship that had led to his chosen vocation in potions. His friendship with Hermione had been wary at first, but now they found themselves talking long into the night at least once a week. 

The letter was short, and to the point. _Professor Snape, I wish to discuss something with you before class. I feel it is important. Please indicate your acceptance by talking to Professor Trelawney._

Severus caught himself between a grimace and a grin. They had discovered a mutual dislike of the Divination Professor and he had manipulated Hermione into to serving a detention with her the previous week. This was obviously payback for that. _'Never let it be said,' _Severus thought, _'That Slytherins can't endure torture. This better be worth it though, or else...' _ Severus let that delicious thought trail off and turned to the infrequent presence of Sybil Trelawney. "So what ripe disaster does your teacup hold for us this Halloween, Sybil? Another troll perhaps? Or an earthquake perhaps?"

Trelawney looked shockedfor a moment, Snape _never_ spoke to her, then eagerly launched into one of her foretellings that were as much guesswork as they were balderdash. As she predicted Severus' _disappearance from the ranks of wizard_, the subject of her prediction was watching a giggling Gryffindor and pondering one of the mysteries of the universe. _'How the hell did Hermione know Sybil would be here?'_

tbc

A/N. Thanks to Ezmerelda for betaing this for me and thanks for all the reviews on 'Hands of Red'! This is a combination several ideas that have been floating around my head for the past several months, and therefore will end up being very twisted! And for those who think that I've made Sev too sweet and light, don't worry! There's some darkness yet to come...  



	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, Severus found himself grading Hufflepuff essays whilst waiting for the first class of the day: fifth year Slytherin and Gryffindor, due to start in an hour. For once he found himself looking forward to the lesson. The constant tension, sly tricks and behind-the-back hexes. And of course the ease with which he caught the Gryffindors' attempts at retribution was almost laughable. It would certainly be far more entertaining than marking essays by 2nd year Badgers on the uses of dragon parts in healing potions.

The fact that Hermione Granger was due to arrive early had nothing to do with his frustrations. Honestly.

Severus stared in bewilderment at the parchment he'd just finished reading, and shook his head. "Miss Jackson. What is the point of rambling on over minutiae while missing all of the major points? One would hope you do not follow this procedure in all your endeavours, or I should expect to see you keel over at dinner from hunger." His quill scratched over the parchment in thick red ink as he spoke, and then added a big D- below. Severus always found it far more satisfying verbalising his concluding remarks on a student's paper, it seemed to add just the right tone to his comments.

The downside was that occasionally someone overheard. The reactions ranged from tutting from his colleagues, gasps of offense from students and once tears from the owner of the paper. This was one of those occasions, but this time it resulted in a remark almost as cutting as his own. "Now, was that really necessary, Professor? Your performance in class truly is traumatising enough without you adding misery to our already dismal grades."

Severus looked up at his recently found friend and smirked, "It's a hobby." His smirk faded when he saw her face. Although she was smiling, it was merely a façade. They had learned to read each other's moods amazingly quickly since his suicide attempt, and several times he'd caught her looking very concerned over something. But on each occasion she'd brushed him off, and he'd let it pass. Now, it seemed, she had reached the point where she **needed** to discuss it. Whatever 'it' was. "What's wrong?" 

Hermione's face fell, and she sate heavily on a stool that was beside his desk. "It's Harry."

_'Well that explains everything and nothing at the same time.' _Severus thought, _'I wonder what Potter's done this time?'_ The Boy Who Lived was one of the few subjects they'd avoided, by silent mutual agreement. That argument would have ended their friendship before it began.

Severus sighed, "What's Potter done now?" 

"That's just it. I don't know. It's just that, well, he's just... not Harry."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "If he's not Potter, then who is he?"

Hermione got off the stool and began to pace angrily. There was nothing she hated more than a problem she couldn't solve. "Oh, he's Harry Potter all right. I even tested him for polyjuice, but that came back pure 100% Potter. He's just not... Harry." She stopped in the middle of the room, looking dejected.

Severus rolled his eyes, "Well that certainly cleared things up." He took hold of her shoulders and directed her back to the stool. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning and let me draw my own conclusions."

"But where's the beginning?" Hermione was at a loss, "There's so much. Mostly little things, but..." 

Severus sat in his own chair and steepled his fingers. "Try chronologically."

Hermione thought for a moment, then began. "It started over the summer. He wouldn't reply to anyone's mail. I mean, I know he received them, or else the Post Office owes me 3 sickles. He just never wrote back."

Severus sat forward in his chair, "Not even to Black?"

"Well, sort of. I wrote to Mr. Black to find out exactly that. He replied that Harry had written, but only in direct reply. He sent me some copies. They were all short. Terse even. Just _'I'm doing fine, summer's going well. See you.' _" Hermione shook her head, "I think he was just writing enough to keep his Godfather from paying a visit. He never even asked about Buckbeak like he always does."

Severus thumped the arm of his chair, "Ha! So that's how Black got away!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Well that and judicious use of my Time Turner, but can we please get back to the matter at hand?"

Severus suddenly felt as if he were a little boy who'd just been caught sneaking biscuits from the pantry. "Er, right. What else."

"We were supposed to meet him at Diagon Alley like we usually do, but Harry never showed. I thought I saw him at Gringott's, but by the time I got there, he was gone, and the Goblins refused to answer my query." The staff of Gringott's were notorious for keeping the dealings of their clients confidential. "Then there was the train. I wasn't there, as you know, but according to Ron, he locked himself into a compartment. Alone. And he didn't get off with the others, no one saw him in the carriages. We think he used one of the secret passages."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "One of?"

"There's a few of them." Hermione waved it off, hoping he wouldn't pick up that she was being deliberately vague. "But that's not really the issue right now, is it." She made it a statement rather than a question to forestall any further discussion about Hogwart's hidden corridors.

"Actually, it could be." Severus **had** noticed, but chose to let the subject lie. For now. "Potter may have had a reason for choosing that route other than his newfound need for solitude. We can search the passages later, see if he concealed anything in one of them. Is that all?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, there's much more. His general attitude for one. Harry barely speaks to anyone anymore, except in monosyllables. Remember the day I apologised to you? He told me to hurry up from the door. That was the last civil thing he said to me." She paused and wiped away the tear that had begun to roll down her cheek. For some reason this made Severus grit his teeth in anger. 

Hermione flicked the moisture away and continued. "But it's not just me. When he isn't ignoring absolutely everyone else, he's rubbing Ron's financial situation in his face. Ron refuses to even be in the same room with him unless it's a class. Even the way he treats Malfoy is different. It's like they've made a pact. Rumour had them duelling in the halls at the start of term and now they avoid each other like the plague." Her frown became puzzled, and her tone worried. "And he keeps disappearing, where to I couldn't say." 

Severus thought there had to more than this, so he said as much. "So far it just sounds like every other adolescent boy I've seen. Why have you come to me about it? Why not your Head of House? Or even the Headmaster?"

Hermione seemed to suddenly find the floor very interesting, the way that people do when ashamed of themselves. Or their friends. "Because yesterday. . ."

"Yesterday, what?"

She took a deep breath, "Yesterday Professor Dumbledore called both of us to his office. I think I was just there because the Headmaster knows that Harry values my opinion. Or did anyway. We were there because of Harry's grades, I'm sure you've noticed they've been dropping?"

Severus nodded, "Like a stone."

"He's just not putting any effort into his work anymore, for any of his classes. Apparently, he doesn't even show up for Divination anymore and last week he just walked out of a History exam. Anyway, Harry listened calmly to everything the Headmaster had to say, and then. . . then he. . ."

Severus gripped the arms of his chair tightly. '_If that boy has harmed Albus in **any** way, he will regret it for the rest of his **very** short life.'_

"Harry said '_You're concerns are noted, sir, but I would thank you to cease your ineffective meddling in my private affairs_.' and then he just left." Hermione looked as if she still couldn't believe what she'd witnessed.

Neither could Snape. He was shocked to say the least. No student had **ever** told off Dumbledore. Ever! Gradually he became aware that Hermione had continued talking, ". . . Harry didn't even raise his voice, like it was a prepared speech or something. He's never angry, never laughs or cries. The only time he ever seems to feel anything is when he's chasing the snitch." She looked at him with great tears welling in those dark eyes, then with a sob she flung herself bodily into his startled arms, "Oh, Severus what am I to do?"


	3. Chapter 3

Severus Snape, enthroned behind his massive desk, glared at the fifth year Slytherins and Gryffindors as one by one they smartly marched into his domain. All of them had long ago learned the wisdom of being punctual, at least to his classes. As such, his were the only ones that had a tendency to start early. Once they were all in and seated, he usually found them to be looking up at him with expressions of . . . not anticipation exactly, more . . . trepidation. Yes, that was it. The sense of waiting for the hammer to fall. Or more precisely, for whatever new tortures the dreaded Potions Master had planned for them.

Severus found that he quite enjoyed it.

There were of course a few notable exceptions. Longbottom, for one, wore his usual look of terror. Severus honestly believed that the boy would have found his backbone by now and told him off. _'Maybe then the boy will be able to achieve his potential. Nietzsche may have been a madman, but at least he had the right idea. If only the rest of them would stop coddling him.'_

On the other hand, Severus actually found the facial contortions of Mr Weasley somewhat amusing, as he was vacillating between hate filled glares at his Professor, and looks of concern to Miss Granger, who still had a few remnants of her earlier distress about her. Obviously the boy blamed him. Miss Granger, was, of course, the essence of calm, with perhaps just a small hint of interest for the coming lesson.

And then there was Potter.

They all groaned in protest when he announced a surprise test instead of the expected practical exercise. He'd originally planned to have them brew one of three potions of their choice from their fourth year, but Severus couldn't afford to divide his attentions today. He directed Mr Malfoy to disperse the tests and, once they'd begun, Severus began his study of The Boy Who Lived.

To put it bluntly, Potter looked lifeless. _'I've seen more interest in a corpse,'_ Severus thought, _'Hard to believe that I didn't notice it before.'_ To find the cause would take careful observation, (something that he was skilled at after years of teaching and spying - which when you think about it, aren't all that different,) and considering the boy's Gryffindor nature, most probably a manipulated confrontation.

Severus allowed himself a brief reminiscence of the time he provoked a 3rd year Potter senior into confessing his crush on the recently instated flying teacher. Admittedly the entire male population had the same problem, but Potter was the only one to shout out his love for Audrey Hooch. In front of the whole school. Right before a Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match. On Valentine's Day.

Funnily enough the score had been 340-20. Slytherin's way.

Of course the downside of this little victory was that during the early years of his teaching career, Severus had found himself being volunteered every time Audrey found herself incapable of teaching, be it because of illness, injury, random parties, or even the occasional Piss Off Snape Day. Severus could finally understand why his father had always told him never to anger a Slytherin woman. They hold grudges, and have **very **long memories. _'Speaking of fathers, that will probably be the best approach, I think. Mentioning Potter Senior in a bad light usually brings out the worst in the boy.'_

He took that opportunity to take a quick glance over the room to assess the tension level. It was discouragingly low. _'Time for a little extra pressure, I think.'_ Severus reached for a particular drawer in his desk and opened it with a harsh grating sound. From within he retrieved an especially wicked looking dagger and a whetstone. "Ten minutes remaining." He called out, causing most of the class to look up with that look of panic that so eloquently says, 'What? Already?' and removes all traces of thought from their minds. Some remained looking away from their tests as he removed the sheath and began to scrape the stone across the dagger's edge.

Now some would see this as cruel and unusual behaviour, but to Severus Snape it was a simple teaching tool. Okay, a complex teaching tool. He had picked up the trick while teaching the Weasley Twins in their fifth year. Once the students adjusted themselves to the presence of an apparently homicidal maniac supervising them, the OWL exams themselves became remarkably easier. Some students (Slytherins for the most part) had even come back and thanked him for it. Of course Fred and George Weasley had thanked him too - by replacing the dagger with the type of knife more often found in muggle picnic sets. What had been surprising was that news of his behaviour had not been passed down to the years below, so that it achieved the same result each year since.

For the remaining minutes, Severus sharpened his dagger and studied the Potter boy circumspectly. Unlike his classmates, Potter was taking little interest in his exam. Occasionally his quill would scratch something onto the parchment, but for the most part he seemed to stare towards the front of the room, resembling little more than an exhibit at a wax museum. It was like the boy was asleep with his eyes open.

Before long Severus had to cease his observations and turn his attention back to the rest of the class. He announced the end of the test and moved quickly among the students, crossing out wrong answers in vibrant red. The House with the least number of correct answers would be given a reading assignment in addition to the common homework of presenting the correct answers to him by the beginning of the next lesson. If the losing house happened to be Gryffindor, ten points were also deducted.

Severus failed to notice that Potter was fidgeting with something under the desk.

-------------

"Potter! You will stay behind!"

_'Well, it's about bloody time!' _Harry thought with impatience. Outwardly however, he gave the impression that he didn't care.

Neither did his classmates, beyond a few scowls for the house points he'd lost. Of course, considering the façade he'd put up this year, he wasn't surprised. In fact, if Harry Potter ceased to exist, he doubted that any of them would care.

Which was exactly the point.

Snape slammed Harry's test down on the desk, and stood back. "Care to explain this, Potter?" He sneered.

Harry looked down at the parchment for a moment. If it had been human skin, it would have been easy to believe that Snape had been a little overzealous with that dagger of his. Harry looked back up. "Explain what, sir?" he asked in a bored voice.

Snape splayed his hands out on the desk and leant closer. But not close enough. "Don't play games with me, boy! You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your efforts on this weren't worth marking. In fact, your work has been absolutely abysmal all year." He sneered and slowly recoiled in apparent disgust, "Let me guess, you've decided to follow in your father's footsteps and let your dubious ability atop a broom carry you through school? Think again! I won't stand for that kind of nonsense."

Harry shot up, livid, "You leave my father out of this!"

"James Potter was a layabout, good for nothing . . ."

"He was a good man! He died for me!" Harry was yelling now, "To protect **ME!**" 

He slumped back into his chair, "Why me? Why do they always have to die because of me?"

Neither teacher nor student said anything for a time, then Harry looked up, his eyes teary but still angry. "You hated my parents, and you transferred that hate to me before you even met me. What? Was the news of my arrival inflicted upon you? Was my fame mentioned everyday? Did it ever occur to you that I had no idea that this world even existed?"

"You're no saint yourself, Potter. As I recall, you didn't exactly look beyond the surface during your first year either! What was it you suspected me of? Helping the Dark Lord steal the Stone?"

"Well I wasn't too far off the Darkmark, now was I?"

"You insolent brat!"

For a moment the two just glared at each other, like cobra and mongoose, hated enemies staring each other down. Finally Harry backed off. "I don't need this. I really don't. Tell you what. You stop hating me, I'll stop hating you. Clean slate. We'll each play our roles: Spy and sacrifice. Apart from that, we stay clear of each other. Agreed?" He held out his left hand.

Snape sneered, "You must be even more delusional than I thought if you think I'd agree to anything you thought up. Just what exactly are you trying to pull here?" 

"Bloody Slytherins and their bloody paranoia." Harry shook his head and stood up, "Screw this. I'm outta here."

As he stalked away, Harry dealt with the growing fear that he would actually get away with this small act of insubordination. He needn't have worried. Eight paces from the door, Snape's hand seized him by the shoulder and spun him around, only to seize him again by the front of his robes.

The rage evident on Snape's face would have frightened anyone below third year into hysterics. His thick brows were knitted and the black eyes below flashed with fury. His nostrils were flared and his lips twisted into a hideous grimace. Apparently no one had ever tried to walk out on him before, or if they had they hadn't lived to tell about it. "Don't you walk away from me, you arrogant little . . ."

Harry never did find out exactly what invectives the Professor had intended to use on him, for at that moment The Boy Who Lived seized Snape's wrist with his left hand, and the older man gasped in shock as the needle concealed in Harry's ring penetrated the delicate skin.

"Imperio!" Harry's right hand held his wand while his left maintained a hold on Snape. "And now, Professor, we have much to discuss."


	4. Chapter 4

_Turning and turning in the widening gyre   
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;   
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;   
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,   
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;   
The best lack all conviction, while the worst   
Are full of passionate intensity.   
_

The words of Yeats' poem, _'The Second Coming'_ resounded through Severus' head as the revolving stairs lifted him to the Headmaster's office. Why this particular poem had come to his mind, he could not say, but the sense of foreboding that it gave him wrapped about him like an old winter cloak - familiar and heavy, almost oppressively so. He tried to shrug off the feeling as he knocked on the oaken door at the top of the stairs, but to no avail.

"Come in!" The muffled sound of Dumbledore's voice emerging from within the chambers irritated Severus. How could the man be so damn cheerful all the time? He opened the door and swept inside.

"Ah! Severus. What can I do for you, my boy?"

Hogwart's Master of Snark and Witty Retorts bit off the first reply that came to mind and opted for the diplomatic approach. After all, it was best to remind one's boss of his approaching? senility gently, rather than call him an old fool to his face. "You owled me, Headmaster. Have there been . . . developments?"

Albus nodded sagely, "Indeed there have, my boy. Please, sit down." Once Severus had seated himself and accepted a cup of tea, the Headmaster continued, "Less than a month ago I started receiving intelligence from an anonymous source amongst your former compatriots. Naturally, I was suspicious, but so far it has all been verified. The second to last report enabled us to save lives." 

Severus cocked his head, "Who?"

"One of Alastor's nephews and his family. The man works for the Department of Mysteries. It is entirely possible that Tom is after the Prophecy."

Severus shook his head, "I'm still not entirely convinced. Without more solid evidence, it is still plausible that the Dark Lord is setting some kind of trap. Who for I don't know, most likely you, or possibly even me; not Potter though, it's the wrong approach. At the very least, we need to know who this informant is and what his motives are."

"Then it is fortunate that he revealed himself to me, this past week. I received another message from our new ally, asking to meet with me in a public muggle location. This was, I assume, so that neither he nor I would be seen and recognised by his comrades. I must say that muggles have a most unique idea of entertainment." Severus waited for Albus to elaborate on that last remark, but he did not, and later Severus decided that it would probably be best for his sanity if he didn't ponder it too long.

"It was in this establishment, that I found myself face to face with someone with whom I am sure you are acquainted: Mr Lyndon Avery."

Severus blinked, "Avery?!"

Dumbledore slowly nodded. 

"Avery?" Severus said again, scarcely daring to believe it. "I . . . that doesn't make any sense. Avery was always one of the Dark Lord's most devoted followers. He really believed that Voldemort would grant him power in the new order. He once told me of his vision of hordes of muggle slaves obeying his every whim. Admittedly he was both drunk and high at the time but that's beside the point. The only reason he survived the Dark Lord's first fall was that he was, and undoubtedly still is a craven coward. I simply can't see him doing something as ballsy as this."

Albus spread his hands to communicate his lack of knowledge, "I do not know him well enough to say, Severus, I can only relate what he told me. Mr Avery said that since the Dark Lord's return, he has been treated poorly by his fellows, and by the Dark Lord himself. You and I both know that Tom dislikes failure, and someone must take the blame for the tardiness of his resurrection. And from what young Mr Potter told us last year, Tom was very displeased with Avery upon his return."

Severus shook his head, "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I still find it hard to credit . Even poor treatment could not convince him to turn against everything he believes in."

"Nevertheless, we find ourselves in the position where we **must** trust the man. At our meeting, he informed me that the Dark Lord has decided to increase his followers. Come the Winter Solstice, he will be initiating new Death Eaters. Severus, he intends collect his new followers from among our students." 

"What!?" Severus dropped his teacup in surprise. It shattered against the hard stone floor.

"Unfortunately Mr Avery feels that he is not sufficiently familiar with our student roster to identify all the initiates. He has suggested that I convince one of the teachers to go in his place, under the guise of polyjuice, as Avery. As such . . ."

"HA! I knew it. It's a trap!"

"As such, I require you to brew some of the potion, so that I can . . ."

"Forget it Albus! I will not let you do it. For one you don't know where the initiation is to be held, and two, even if you manage to get yourself there, as soon as you arrived you'd be dead, or captured. Faster than you could say _Avada Kedavra._ Tell Avery he can take his ambush and shove it up Voldemort's arse the next time he's kissing it." 

Dumbledore's brows knitted in irritation, "If you would allow me to finish, Severus, you would learn that I have no intention of committing suicide, nor do I intend to send anyone else to their death, needlessly or otherwise. After we exact certain assurances from Mr Avery, Sirius Black shall . . ."

Shooting to his feet, "Black?! You must be joking, Headmaster! Despite the fact that he is unfamiliar with just about every student here, he wouldn't last ten minutes! Even if it weren't a trap! The first time he heard or saw something he didn't like, he'd be compelled to do something suitably stupid and Gryffindorish thus getting himself captured and killed. Not that I'd mind that last part all that much, but he knows every secret the Order has! It would be like handing your head to Voldemort on a silver platter!"

"And who would you suggest, Severus? Professor Flitwick perhaps? Or perhaps Sybil wouldn't mind swapping genders for a couple of hours. Please, Severus, Illuminate me." Apparently Severus wasn't the only one who had skill with sarcasm.

He drew himself up to his full height and faced the Headmaster with all the dignity he could muster. "There is only one logical choice, Albus. I will go. I am familiar with the students, with the ritual, with the behaviour of attendees, and most importantly have the least to lose." 

Dumbledore closed his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. "The least to lose? My Dear Boy, you have already lost far too much. And I think that you have gained far more this year than you realise." The blue eyes opened, lacking their usual sparkle, but containing a determination that was rarely seen and feared by those who crossed him. "You have gained a second chance, you can finally build the life you have denied yourself all these years. I will not let you throw that away." 

Severus ignored the warning and continued with his argument. "With all due respect, Headmaster, it is my life and therefore my decisio..."

"Not this time, Severus. I won't allow it. But you are right about one thing. Sirius was a poor choice for this assignment. Would Remus meet with your approval?"

Severus sank back into his chair and mulled it over. Finally he conceded, "At least he can control himself." He thought for a moment, "But there is one problem. This sort of affair usually runs for about ninety minutes. Polyjuice won't last that long, despite my best efforts to extend its usefulness. I don't think that the Dark Lord will appreciate one of his minions interrupting the occasion to take a quick swig."


End file.
